


a collection of IkeMarth drabbles

by Marf (hylianndreamer)



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Super Smash Brothers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:00:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9827717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hylianndreamer/pseuds/Marf
Summary: A collection of drabbles I wrote for my roleplay partner, based on our interpretations of Ike and Marth. Some are platonic, but most are romantic. Some are based off of AUs we made up, but most are set in the traditional Smash Bros. universe. Check specific chapter descriptions for info on settings, context, warnings, etc.





	1. “Zip Me” - A drabble about your character dressing mine, or the other way around

**Author's Note:**

> Verse: Super Smash Bros. 4  
> Relationship: Romantic (implicit)  
> Warnings: None

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.”  


The remark flew over Marth’s head, only scorching the hint of a smile on his face on the way. It wasn’t the first time Ike passively expressed his displeasure about finding himself in this situation, and the noble could easily guess it wouldn’t be the last. Each piece of clothing he handed over was accepted with less enthusiasm, and put on with less care, until the Altean simply took it upon himself to adjust the mercenary’s outfit, going so far as to tuck his shirt in his pants and button up the suit himself. It crossed his mind that Ike might be neglectful on purpose so he would get this special treatment, but they both remained silent about it. 

After all, the sellsword _was_ doing him a favor, having accepted to accompany him to this fancy reception. Having to personally dress him up in exchange for having him as moral support throughout the evening seemed like a fair deal, even if it meant feeling Ike’s burning gaze on him while he was trying to focus on folding this collar properly. Marth’s face was soon heating up, both from the attention and out of impatience. As ‘fashion’ as they were supposed to be, these outfits were just different enough from the suits the prince was used to to give him trouble with the few finishing touches.  

It was a good thing they were - somehow - perfectly tailored to their respective size, or else he highly doubted he could have made him - or rather, _them_ \- look this good. It was impressive, really, how a simple change of clothes could make someone look entirely different. Their usual hairstyles were untouched, by request of the Hands - something about them staying recognizable -, and yet they both appeared as modern, young, successful businessmen in these foreign black tuxes.  

It was what little glee Marth could drag out of these garments, he realized as he got a sudden “Oof !- easy,” from messing up and tightening Ike’s tie knot too much. They were terribly impractical. “Forgive me,” the prince sighed, striving not to let his budding frustration take over. Nimble fingers loosened the knot and finally trailed down the necktie as he took a step back, only allowing himself to admire his work for a split second before he turned around to face the room’s mirror and focus on his own attire, starting with the godforsaken collar. It had to be buttoned on the back, which made the operation a lot less effective than it could have been, considering he couldn’t even see what he was doing.  

Maybe Ike understood his annoyed groan as a plea for help, maybe he was just getting impatient too - either way, it didn’t  take more than a minute for him step forward and take over, leaving Marth with nothing to do but drop his arms back down and stare at his sheepish reflection. “Why are you giving yourself so much trouble ?” the taller swordsman asked, and the noble perceived in his detached tone some sort of concern that wasn’t only pertaining to this night, to this event, to this outfit. 

It was a valid question, in hindsight. There was no obligation, no restriction, no expectation - all they’d been told was to dress up nicely with the suits they’d be given and be nice to the guests. No bonus points for doing the best impression, no rewards for seeming richer or healthier than others. There was objectively no good reason to fuss so much over technicalities. “I wish to look presentable,” he laid out simply, hoping to shrug off the subject. 

He was the representative of the ‘Heroes of the Emblem’ group, his attendance, unlike Ike’s, was mandatory - it made sense he would make an effort to project a good image for their sake, right ? And that extended to the mercenary as well, now, seeing as he was to accompany him. It was logic. Nothing more, nothing less. “Your sleeves.” 

Seeing the two of them in this unusual get-up, however, rendered him unsure, hesitant. It was kind of pointless, wasn’t it ? Having a few encounters with some of their ‘fans’ would already have so little repercussions on their lives here, would what they wear make the slightest difference ? Was it really worth the effort he’d just pulled ? “Marth, your sleeves.” 

No. There was undeniably some force of habit at works here, it was instinct to him, second nature. When life gives you lemon, make lemonade; when you’re thrown towards a fancy event and offered an equally fancy attire, make sure you’ll appear at your best. That was really all these outfits were good for, now that the prince took the time to look them over. They made them look good, that was it. They were constricting, stiff, thick. Not overly uncomfortable, but definitely something they would gladly take off a few hours from now. They- “ _Marth_.” 

“Hm ?”  


“ _Your sleeves_. Button ‘em up.”  


“Oh.”  


He looked down on his arms to conclude his dressing up with the one section he’d overlook, just in time to miss the smirk that drew itself on Ike’s face - just in time to hopefully hide the shade of red that tinted his cheeks for a few seconds. He really ought to give his date more credit - he was more perceptive than he looked. At least as far as Marth was concerned.  

Without a second thought, the prince looked up at his companion, deciding he would seek support and confidence from him instead of relying on his usual, solo methods. It wouldn’t do to think too much, apparently. “Shall we ?” 

Ike answered by silently offering him his arm, which Marth took, and they headed to the door. 


	2. “ Yahoo Me” - A drabble about our characters celebrating something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> celebrating Tabuu's defeat and the upcoming beginning of the Brawl tournament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: Super Smash Bros. Brawl  
> Relationship: Platonic  
> Warnings: underage drinking I guess (Ike _is_ only seventeen here after all)

Shouts erupted into the mansion as soon as the first Smasher slammed the big door open, the rest of the crowd quickly following in and spreading out to occupy every breathing space like ants on a giant fruit. Most of them were still cheering, some at least as loudly as they had been on the way there, either thrilled to be back or simply relishing the group’s shared victory against Tabuu.  

Marth had given way to the most eager ones, although he was admittedly impatient to see how the residence had changed. It already looked much bigger than the last time, an increase in size most likely proportional to that of their number. It hadn’t gone unnoticed to veterans that, again, there were significantly more contenders than in the previous edition of the tournament, but apparently the Hands knew how to accommodate them all still, if not even better. And they most certainly anticipated them to be up for festivities, judging by how the lobby was set-up. 

Colorful lights were dancing on every wall in sight, the bass of some music in a farther room shaking up the whole floor’s structure, plates of food laid out on every flat surface accompanied by countless goblets of champagne and various other liquors. The few dozens of fighters had barely crammed into the building before a majority of them were already rushing to the refreshments or regrouping in small sets here and there to chat about the events and the upcoming competition, which should start soon now that they were all reunited and had brought peace back to this universe.  

The Altean prince promptly spotted a corner of the main hall, well out of potential passersby’s way, but still within close enough range of the action to get a good view of everything. He wasted no time heading there and started surveying the crowd avidly. Although they had all come together to get through the end of their adventure, there were some faces the swordsman still didn’t recognize, and thus he was hopeful he hadn’t met every new - or returning - competitor. Although he knew, deep down, he would have seen him by now… 

“Looking for someone ?” Marth perked up at the now-somewhat-familiar voice, instantly recognizing his most recent ally. Ike had stepped into the fray when he and Meta Knight had been cornered to a tight spot, quickly earning their trust and respect, something the three of them would end up relying on more than any of them had expected. Even though this camaraderie had had its perks, however, it remained only that to the prince: an alliance. Although some sort of affinity had blossomed between the two swordsmen - something later partly explained by the rumor that their homelands were linked, somehow -, Marth made an effort not to let him in so easily.  


Which is why he merely brushed off the other’s question, refusing him the truth with a simple “No”. He compelled himself to fix his gaze on something, if only to evade any further suspicions. Roy wasn’t here. Marth was on his own, this time around. He could only hope nothing had befallen his young comrade… 

He leaned forward, grabbing a glass of champagne among the ones set on the plate he’d unintentionally been staring at for the last few seconds, Ike’s presence still visible out of the corner of his eye. “Do you not celebrate ?” the teal-haired questioned, more so to be polite than out of curiosity. He felt rather uneasy, standing in silence next to his acquaintance. 

“It’s not like I have any idea what’s going on,” Ike shrugged nonchalantly, and the prince turned away to hide a smile. So Ike really was the blunt, direct kind - those few remarks he’d dropped on their journey hadn’t only been circumstantial. Marth felt a bit sorry for him. He’d tried telling him and Meta Knight, while they traveled, about the nature of this place, this convergence of worlds, universes. How they were ultimately here only to fight each other mindlessly, even though each and every one of them had earned their place here by accomplishing remarkable deeds. It was a lot to take in, and even harder to fully understand. In truth, Marth still didn’t.  


But at least, he hadn’t been dropped into this place in the middle of a crisis, the previous time. And he hadn’t been alone, either; Roy had the same first language as him, and presented many similarities, his noble lineage and sword technique being only two of a few. Ike, on the other hand, had seen chaos before order, and was now seemingly willing to settle for the Altean’s poor amity skills. “None of us really do, dare I say.” 

He would have gladly precised that it wasn’t worth thinking over too much, that truthful explanations were most likely beyond their understanding, that this temporary life they were handed would not affect their real ones, anyway. But when he turned to properly look at the mercenary, Marth could instantly see he wasn’t looking for further clarifications. Ike didn’t need nor want to make things more complicated than they needed to be - he was ready to take the days as they would come. An attitude the monarch admired, but that rendered him even more puzzled as to why Ike wasn’t seeking out some better company. 

On a generous impulse, the prince raised his glass at the other swordsman, who was quick to grab one himself and mirror the gesture, a crooked grin edging on his face as a characteristic _clink_ resonated between the two. “Cheers,” the sellsword said simply before tasting his drink. Marth allowed an easy smile to tug at his own lips, fully aware that the distant music and chatter would keep Ike from hearing him when he admitted, “Enchanted to meet you.” 


	3. “Wed Me” - A drabble about our characters under the subject of wedlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'discussing' marriage (but mostly just a Marth inner dialogue, as usual)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: Super Smash Bros. 4  
> Relationship: Romantic (Explicit)  
> Warnings: None

“Marriage.”  


What had been a comfortable silence suddenly became heavy, to the point where Marth momentarily wished he’d kept his mouth shut.  

Some semblance of summer had installed itself in this world a few weeks ago, cold weather no longer keeping the Smashers inside. It had been Link’s idea, or so he remembered, at least, to start this little campfire just outside the mansion. Nothing extravagant, but it had gathered quite the number of attendees, and before they knew it, blankets and sticks and marshmallows were being passed around, shared about as enthusiastically as the few stories some of the improvised campers told. An evening that turned out to be an efficient reminder of those good, rare nights of traveling where Marth and his league managed to forget about the war and the dead and the misery for the time of a story or a song around a campfire. 

The scene changed as night dragged on, however. Instead of being among the first to head back to his chambers, Marth stayed outside for hours, not leaving his spot even after most of the others had gone back inside, even after the campfire was nothing but choked embers, even after the last light sipping from the building behind him had been turned off. 

It had taken him some time to actually relax enough for it, but he eventually imitated the one person who was still out here with him, and gave up his sitting stance to lean back and lay down on their shared cheap blanket, with nothing to look at but the starry night sky. The clock had become irrelevant then. He might even have drifted off to sleep for a few minutes at some point, who knew ? Or maybe his thoughts were simply zoning him out to the point where he didn’t feel conscious anymore. It was hard to tell, with this never-ending ceiling being the only thing occupying his vision. But it was comfortable, whatever it was. 

And then he was wondering whether these were real stars or not, whether they were actual faraway galaxies he had the privilege to see or merely projections. Were those the same stars garnishing his sky back home ? He used to love astrology when he was… 8 ? Or was that in his ninth year’s course ? Either way, he knew he should have been able to recognize one or two constellations… Gods, the last time he’d thought so much of home while being here was when- 

“It is only a matter of time before I am pressured into marriage,” he precised, completing the one sentence he’d never finished, that one evening he and Ike had reunited before this instance of the tournament began*. “This is what I meant to say, the other day,” he added in precision, though his choice of words left a funny taste in his mouth. _A lifetime ago_ , it felt.   


He knew the mercenary hadn’t been sleeping, he knew he’d been following his own obscure train of thoughts, all this time. Still, he shifted just enough so Marth knew, without looking, that he had his full attention. “The people need to know the kingdom is secure. A queen for the king, so the land may have an heir…” he recited calmly, his mind racing ahead to try and choose his next words wisely. 

The thing was, the first time he’d almost mentioned this, that one night when he welcomed Ike back to the competition, had merely been to follow up with a line of confessions, interrupted with a pinch of embarrassment and a solid resolution to avoid the topic. As little as he wanted to face that one obligation, for as long as he could remember he’d promised himself he would never complain about the few sacrifices he had to make for being born into royalty. And he held himself to that, for most of his life. Until now. 

Because now, there was an actual person he could see himself wedding - and this person was as painfully out of reach as he was physically close to him in this very moment, ironically. And it hurt, to think that not only would he not always have access to this reassuring proximity, but to know, without a doubt, that the moment it’d be stripped from him, he would have to grant this intimacy to someone else… He was angry, and sad, and he wanted someone or something to acknowledge him, even if deep down he knew it was selfish, he wanted to know that he was right to feel this way. 

But words caught in his throat, force of habits kicking in, don’t expose your problems, especially if they’re personal, especially if they’re psychological. Trust is a bait, more likely to make you break and bleed from the inside than to taste like a sweet treat. He exhaled a sigh through his nose, hoping it would cover up a bit of his conflicted melancholy. 

“You don’t sound very pleased,” Ike said after a moment, most likely once he understood Marth had given up on following up with his original point. His tone was neutral, leaving the Altean to guess what he thought of it all, considering his eyes were still riveted on the sky and thus he had no expression to read. If Ike cared for him even only half of what Marth cared for him, he wouldn’t exactly appreciate this reminder- yet he didn’t sound as frustrated as the prince felt. It was almost like he tried to be detached on purpose to encourage his noble companion to speak his mind. And so he did;  


“I would much rather marry you.” Confession hung in the air for many unbearable seconds. There was no movement next to him whatsoever - it felt like Ike was holding his breath altogether. And then, a bit quieter;  


“Is that a proposal ?”  


“Ha.” _I wish. I wish it could be. I would be on my knees in a heartbeat if there were any chances of you coming home with me._

But again, he kept silence on his immediate thoughts, leaving only half of a bitter, humorless laugh for an answer as something seemed to shatter to the very core of his soul. He could have- he wanted to play along. He wanted to say yes, and they could pretend for a moment that the Hands would let them travel to the other’s world, that marriage between two men wasn’t frowned upon whatsoever, that the people wouldn’t care, that some benevolent maiden would volunteer to be a surrogate mother, that somehow they’d find a way to match their practically opposite lifestyles and share a life beyond this short-term, temporary relationship… It wouldn’t make it more real, but it might make it less painful, at least for an instant.

He would never know, though, because he panicked at the idea of Ike’s answer being ‘No’, and never asked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *a reference to the very first thread I had with my partner, involving Ike and Marth reuniting for the fourth Smash tournament, in which, while telling each other about what has happened to them since the previous one, Marth almost reveals that he expects his people to pressure him into marriage soon, but stops himself just in time. You can find that specific reply [here](http://dignumrex.tumblr.com/post/138211837063/reunion).


	4. “Value Me” - A drabble about my character telling yours how they feel about them.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last night at the mansion before they get separated again, possibly forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: Super Smash Bros. 4  
> Relationship: Romantic (explicit)  
> Warnings: none

None spoke of it, but they all knew it. 

It was obvious, even. In the way they were all so dead set on not mentioning it. There was a profusion of side glances, all of them wondering if the others could feel it, too. Everyone put their heart and soul in the day’s battles, and everyone came out satisfied regardless of the results. No one mentioned anything about having a rematch or trying again tomorrow, though. Somehow, they all made an effort to gather in a big group for dinner, without exception - something that was about as common as the planets aligning. And they ate and talked, rich food and cheery voices filling the hall, all reminiscing of stories that had happened recently in this place, related to the competition or not. Yet none of them mentioned future plans. Smiles and friendly words, yet nostalgia was already heavy in the air. 

For they could all feel that by the morrow, they would all be back home. 

It was like an elephant in the room everyone refused to acknowledge. Some of them would be glad to get back to their lives, while some others wouldn’t take it so easily. Some of them missed their loved ones, while others had established ties to the Mansion itself. For some, it wouldn’t be much of a change of environment, while others would get back to a whole different kind of life. Some were counting on the fact that they would reunite someday, and some knew the chances were slim. 

Even so, they all shared the same attitude; a bit more cheery than usual, a bit nicer, a bit more encouraging, a bit more open. A bit like everyone wanted to keep a good memory of everyone, a bit like everyone wanted to make one last good impression. When the lights got dimmer, it was with a certain reluctance, a certain melancholy, that the fighters bid each other goodnight. No one ever pronounced ‘See you tomorrow’. 

Marth had to admit, Ike put up a good fight. Despite his sleep-inducing ministrations, even the mercenary lasted longer that night than usual. It was impressive, considering how dedicated he’d been to the few battles that had filled his schedule today. However, the prince had been in somewhat of a hurry to put him to sleep the moment they’d found themselves alone, out of fear Ike would bring up the inevitable. Marth knew he wouldn’t be able to discuss it, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep himself in check, his throat already tightening painfully each time he merely looked in Ike’s direction. 

And thus a heated, wordless embrace faded into the faint whisper of sweet nothings and empty promises, which eventually turned into a familiar snoring, and something in the Altean’s chest seemed to constrict agonizingly as the thoughts screamed, _this is it._ Now he could only wait for the Sandman to claim him as well. He was tired, and more comfortable than he knew he would ever be again, and still, something was clawing at his heart and keeping him from drifting off, something other than sorrow and apprehension, something more akin to… regret ? What was there even to regret ? If there was one thing he had no regrets for, this was it, why on Earth- 

_…oh._

“Thank you,” he murmured into thin air, and he pushed himself to shift and look over at Ike. He took in the swordsman’s chest heaving up and down, the absence of twitching behind his eyelids - a dreamless sleep -, the sheer peacefulness of his expression, Marth wanted to memorize it one last time, imprint the image once and for all in his memory. “Thank you for the honor of being mine,” he continued, an easy smile flashing across his face as he realized he lacked better words. They had never really bothered putting a word on what their relationship had become other than _you are mine and I am yours_ , and somehow Marth was perfectly content with that. Even he who swore by precise titles and definitions never cared for looking more into this.  


“It is thanks to you that I am a man with no regrets.” From then on, he would know the best thing to ever happen to him was behind him. He wouldn’t wait nor hope for it any longer, but rather cherish every single memory until his older age would get the best of them. He was grateful for them, and knew that what precious time they’d spent here would always be worth whatever sacrifice laid ahead, whatever unpleasantness was waiting for him. “How lucky am I,” he noted softly, eyes lowering to stare a his thumb rubbing the back of the sellsword’s hand.   


“You made my life,” he confessed, voice still below a mere whisper. His chest still ached, but somehow his speech was steady. “…but I am only passing through yours. I know there is much more awaiting you, and I want you to find everything you are looking for.” It was a weak blessing, yet all he could seem to offer. From what he gathered, Ike wasn’t sure of what he was seeking himself, so Marth could only wish him some peace of mind, some sort of finally coming to terms with his existence. He deserved it.  


“Thank you for giving me forever within a number of days,” he pursued, each second he grew closer to falling asleep rushing him with another wave of gratefulness. His time was running out. “For giving me something to hold dear, that no one may ever take from me.” There it was, the subtle tremor shaking up his words. He was feeling his limbs giving out, his body melting into the mattress and against Ike, he was gonna crash, any second-  


“I… I understand now,” he tried, words linked by short huffs of exhaustion, and he winced, working on pulling his thoughts together just so he could get those few sentences out. “We have no choice in whether we get hurt or not in this world - or the next.” He suppressed a yawn, unable to even muster up considerate thoughts for every painful memory that usually plagued his mind. But he knew they were there, and he knew there were still more to come. “But we do have a say in what hurts us.” He refrained a sigh this time, when it dawned on him just how hard it would be to not have this reassuring presence in the morning. Or ever. But oh, how it had been worth it. “I like my choices,” he admitted, and finally let himself shift in a slightly more relaxed position, ready to let sleep take him over - take him away.   


Part of him wished he could have told this straight-on, but he knew deep down he wouldn’t have been able to be any kind of coherent with this if Ike’s gaze had been fixed on him like he could guess it would have been had he engaged in this kind of speech while they were both awake. Besides, something told him these words would make their way to him somehow, in his dreams or as distant blurry memories, should he ever need them. Marth was satisfied with this closure - still sorry he never told Ike any of it directly, but this was most likely the next best thing. “I love you,” he promised before finally passing out. 


	5. “Unbind Me” - A drabble about your character freeing mine, or the other way around, or something among the lines.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marth visits Ike's world, basic bandits attack a nearby village, trouble ensues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: Super Smash Bros. 4 / Radiant Dawn (it takes place in Tellius, but Marth and his relationship with Ike happened through the usual Smash world)  
> Relationship: Romantic (implicit)  
> Warnings: implicit murdering/incapacitating enemies, blaze, minor & major injuries in general

He had been warned. He should have listened.

Being given some time off was always nice, whether it simply meant not having to fight any match for a couple of days, or being allowed so far as to go home during said break. Receiving the permission to visit someone else’s could seem even higher a reward to some of them; the Hands weren’t nearly as inclined to let this happen. And for a good reason, too. They had no invincibility outside of the Smash world; what hurt them couldn’t be healed so easily between two fights, it could leave genuine scars. And they could actually get killed.

Of course, the perspective of death wasn’t new for most of them - they had all braved it at one point or another to get here, even, and some more often than others. They all knew what they were up against when returning home, they were all aware of whatever danger still remained there. It was when visiting another, unfamiliar place that it could get tricky, and though visitors usually stuck with their hosts, incidents were never completely out of the question. None of that had ever happened to any of the fighters, but the masterminds behind the Smash operations were still wary.

Of course, none of that really weighed on Marth’s mind when he was granted to travel to Ike’s world with him. He knew geography aside, there wasn’t much there he wasn’t already familiar with - at least nothing the mercenary hadn’t warned him about, and anyway, neither of them were planning on going anywhere without the other. And so the Hand’s warning had been dismissed, silently brushed off to the back of his mind like any pointless advice. And when a small group of bandits attacked the village neighboring where they were residing for his visit on a fresh evening, prudence didn’t even pop up in his mind before he enthusiastically joined the fray.

There was something incredibly satisfying about fighting off a bunch of brutes who were, without a doubt, no good to humanity. The prince hadn’t been in an actual fight for quite a long time now; even prior to his attending the tournament, Archanea had been at peace for months. Not only that, but he could also only recall battling against armies, which wasn’t always the most rewarding to claim a victory from. Marth had grown used to shrugging it off and blaming the enemy for picking the wrong side, but his own ranks, containing a few former adversaries, were proof that not every soldier fought for what they believed in. Some simply had no choice, and that possibility usually found its way into his head whenever he pushed his blade through someone’s flesh.

This, on the other hand - this was mindless fighting. Not particularly challenging, but the lack of any kind of doubt regarding the Ruffians’ morals was enough to draw some entertainment out of taking them down. The village was a ghost town by now, all of its inhabitant having escaped to the outskirts as soon as the first thief had reached a building and ruckus had ensued. Nothing to worry about other than putting all of these savages out of commission…

He’d been separated from Ike a few minutes ago, when each of them chased off after a half of the group that had separated at the splitting of a street. Marth’s sword was soaking red from the wound he’d inflicted on the half dozen of incapacitated barbarians scattered around the narrow stone road, and he finally deemed safe to lower it. There was no movement left on this side of the town. He was gonna head back and seek Ike out, as he could hear the clashing of steel still in the distance, but the characteristic sound of glass shattering caught his ear right as he passed what seemed to be an apothecary shop. 

A couple of furtive strides later and he had the door slammed open to reveal one more outlaw stealthily throwing every potion he could get his hands on in a bag. There were a few shattered containers sprinkled at his feet, but otherwise he had rather effectively emptied the shelves and counter, and was now making a bee line for the window furthest from Marth, which was across the room. The swordsman didn’t wait for the timing to be right, slashing forward immediately when he registered the bandit’s movement, catching his thigh vertically just deep enough to make him trip and fall.

And then, it happened in a split second.

Marth recovered his balance, straightening up to turn and finish the job, the other man grounded and his hands full with his loot. How ironic, was the Altean’s last thought before it happened, that his prize for raiding this place would be the reason he couldn’t defend himself in the end. And suddenly, he was throwing the bag in Marth’s direction, who stepped aside just in time to dodge it. Instead, it hit one of the pillars, and something, an illicit substance or merely the mix of chemicals as every bottle shattered in unison, detonated. 

The sound of cracking wood followed, and more loud crashing, and then _pain -_  blinding, excruciating pain that tore a strangled cry from his throat. Dust saturated the air, filling his nose, halting his breathing, blinding his sight, ears still ringing from the noise of the explosion, giving nothing for his senses to hold onto besides the ache until it settled. Only then did he blink his vision into focus, not even registering the stray tears of pain beading at the corner of his eyes, for he was too absorbed in what was left before him; part of the roof had crashed down on them, though he was the lesser victim. Only his leg was stuck under the rubble, and though it was clearly broken if the feeling he got from it was any indication, the other guy had been downright crushed under the weight of all this stone and wood.

Marth inhaled a sharp breath, desperately urging his mind to clear out all the attention it was giving to how much it hurt, and focus his energy on reaching out to the debris and lift them off his broken limb. His heart doubled its pace when he tried to push off a single log and it didn’t even budge. He pressed himself to breathe in again and keep calm, only to cough it out right away. Why was there still so much dust ?

Because it wasn’t dust, he realized when a piece of ember fell a couple of inches next to him. It was smoke.

Strange, oddly-colored flames licked the structure where the pillar had given out, and had slowly climbed up to what remained of the roof, eating at every piece of wood that sustained it together. Any second now, the rest of it would come crashing down on him.

That’s when adrenaline - not to say straight-up panic - kicked in, and he leaned forward, anguish leading him to claw relentlessly at the rubble, trying to get it off of him, to break free, eyes glancing up at the creaking ceiling every few seconds in anticipation, he was gonna die here, trapped like a rat, how stupid-

His heart leaped at the sound of Ike’s voice calling his name. It was like a faint whisper drowned out by everything that screamed death in here, the chemical fire, the smoke, the dust, the ruins, the pain - and again, Marth forced himself to take a breath in- “Ike !” he tried shouting, but the mere name sent him into a coughing fit, the air now barely breathable. Whether it was his plea or his coughing, Ike heard him, for his footsteps were now drawing closer to the blazing building. And then he was calling out the prince’s name again, this time so much closer it was almost relieving. 

“I… I’m stuck,” he threw in the air, shame weighting him down as painfully as the wreckage laying on him. “My leg…”

“I’m coming,” he heard the mercenary answer almost right away, quickly followed by the sound of someone trying to force their way through a damaged door. What if his entering here set off another crash ? Marth was tempted to warn him, tell him to turn back before he also got wounded in this mess, but another piece of ash fell onto him, and he struggled helplessly again, trying to free himself from there, only to have more pain shoot from his shattered bones and to waste precious oxygen, his vision blurring out from the ache and the effort, he was going to straight up black out-

“Ike,” he called again, voice strangled with dread, and he admitted, “I’m scared.”

There was a split second of pause. “I’m coming,” the other swordsman repeated, this time with something indecipherable in his tone, and after two or three additional bangs the door flew open. Alarming cracking ensued, but nothing more. Not yet, at least.

There was so much smoke, Marth feared Ike wouldn’t even find him in time - but he was there within a second, half of his face hidden in the collar of his shirt to keep himself from choking, and before the prince could process much, he had lifted off the pieces of wreckage that were stranding him and hoisted him up on his good leg. Even when leaning onto him for support, Marth couldn’t seem to muster up the energy to move in any way, his brain barely functioning enough to keep him alive.

But he did register the relief that filled his lungs like the pure air when he took a breath in upon getting dragged out of that godforsaken shop, and he liked to believe he thanked Ike out loud before he passed out in his arms.


	6. “Tell Me” - A drabble about my character confessing something to yours.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> very deep headcanon territory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: Super Smash Bros. 4  
> Relationship: Romantic (explicit)  
> Warnings: nsfw, sex (implied), death mention, self-harm

“I have something to tell you,” Marth laid out simply as he heard Ike close the door behind them. He could see the mercenary raise his head in interest out of the corner of his eye, but he kept on staring out the window. He couldn’t back out now that he’d announced it, but it was like panic kicked in after dropping the simple sentence; raise in heartbeat, forced breathing, and everything he rehearsed, all those sentences he’d prepared and turned over and over in his mind to make up an explanation vanished from his memory. There was no way he could sugarcoat this, no matter what his original plan had been. 

He had stopped counting the days passing since that night Ike had kissed him and he had kissed Ike back and in the course of a few minutes they had slipped into an entirely new definition of what they held for each other. Marth wasn’t sure how long it had been anymore. _Long enough_ , a thought would chime in whenever he pondered it. 

Long enough to accept it, long enough to learn to be comfortable with it. Long enough to risk leaving his comfort zone if it meant contributing to Ike’s well-being, long enough to want to experiment - a subtle but comforting touch here, an odd word of appreciation there, all in an effort to put a smile on that face, even for one second. Long enough to repeat and further the events of that night, heated embraces and eager caresses alike. Long enough to open up a bit more each day, reveal another small, inoffensive pieces of their past, of their thoughts, of their minds. Marth wasn’t sure which felt the most intimate, but it had been long enough for him to know he wanted to keep going. 

Oh, how he wanted to keep going…

But anytime something was starting to feel too good, anytime Ike would dig fingers in his hair or trail a hand under his shirt or kiss his neck hungrily, anytime his senses’ intake was becoming overwhelming, he remembered them, he remembered they were there, and mostly remembered Ike didn’t know about them - and within a second he had his walls back up and was firmly refusing them both - but mostly himself - the solace they so clearly yearned for.

It wasn’t about taking clothes off, it wasn’t about showing skin. As shameful as he felt about the mere memories, Ike wouldn’t be the first to share a bed with him. Marth was forever stuck with the guilt of his lack of abstinence all those years ago. Barely a few hours after reclaiming his land, when everyone was celebrating their heart out and he’d been forcing himself to move along when he’d just learnt his mother hadn’t even survived the attack almost four years prior, his league had halted at some tavern-inn for a night of celebration before pursuing their campaign. There, with a colorful variety of repressed emotions and an equally colorful alcoholic beverage down his system, he put up no resistance when faced with a foreigner who seemed determined to lure him into one of the cheap bedrooms, and deliberately gave up what was left of his innocence.

He took a liking to it, for a few weeks. As the war raged on and his heart sank, he made it a habit to spot a new partner anytime they would rest in some public place filled with people who wished to have fun and forget about any conflict for a few hours. Somehow he knew how to pick them; people who would clearly never tell, or people who wouldn’t be believed if they did. A poisonous secret to take to the grave for them, a lifetime of guilt for him, all in the name of a short moment of blinding pleasure.

He didn’t do that anymore. It hurt too much to be so selfish.

But he knew what it was like. If he feared trying anything of the sort with Ike, it was much more so because he’d never cared for his partner before than because he lacked experience. And because he needed to tell him about them. He needed to-

“Or… show you, rather.”

Marth exhaled slowly, but nervously.Anxiety was creeping up his gut and he felt his heart racing in his throat, ready to be thrown up as soon as he would give himself one more reason to stress over this. _Calm down_ , he urged himself, eyes now riveted on the ground as he slowly paced back towards Ike, who’d been patiently standing near the door, waiting to know what this was all about. _He is trustworthy, and understanding_ , Marth told himself to crank up his own courage. _If anyone must know, be glad it’s him._

There was no shame in having scars. Everyone Marth knew bore some, from the toughest knight to the shyest mage. Ike was covered in scars as well, he knew it. The prince was no exception. He wasn’t ashamed of his battle scars. His right arm was full of permanent bruises from various types of lances. His hip was clearly marked with an old arrow wound he had had to get thoroughly treated back in the days. The infamous wyvern claw mark he had had to cauterize with his own blade in the desert would never leave his left shoulder. And he would most likely always keep the long, deep scratch almost perfectly perpendicular to every bone constituting the right half of his rib cage, courtesy of Medeus himself. Never ending remnants of wounds proving he was not invincible. But he was alive, and thus overall triumphant. There was no shame in keeping scars from battles he had won.

The shame resided in scars left from the ones he lost. The worst battles of all - those no one other than himself were aware of. The mere result of keeping everything in, of letting his own struggles consume him from the inside so he could go on looking strong and solid to his followers even if he wasn’t, so he could pretend to be a leader when he was just a kid, so he could pass off as a hero when he felt utterly broken. Blades were everywhere, each room he ever paced was equipped with at least one sword in case of attack, it had always been so easy…

One cut for each of the fallen, and one more for their parents, for their siblings, for their lovers, for their kids, the ones that became orphans with the mere swinging of a sword on a stray battlefield, and the ones who would never be born. 

A notch for each starving peasant who had nothing and were still stripped from everything, and another for each citizen who lost a lifetime’s worth of labor overnight because some war dog thought it safer to burn their house down.

A gash for each member of his League, who were giving up everything that ever mattered to them and throwing themselves on enemy spears on account of keeping him alive because his bloodline dictated he was the important one. 

A nick for each time he grabbed a sword to train or fight to carry on his father’s final wish, the massive, unshakable King Cornelius who had fallen, betrayed, with no one to direct his hopes on but his feeble disappointment of a son.

A dent for each day spent hoping his mother was still alive, each day holding on to the idea that he could rescue her just like he would rescue his sister, only to find out she’d never had the slightest chance. 

And he would go on severing his own flesh over and over, keep the pain real, keep it externalized, keep it out of his head at any cost, because its physical form would always be more bearable. Only stop when it hurt enough to pass out, and then wait until the thoughts returned to push the blade back against his skin, and cut faster and push deeper until his whole mind was numb again, too busy focusing on the physical ache. A painful relief, but a relief nonetheless.

And he would keep going and repeat the process until he blacked out. From the pain, from the blood loss, from the exhaustion - he could never tell. But he would wake up feeling sore and empty, and never not wear his gloves in public again, and manage to keep marching on a few more days before he hit a wall and had an episode once more. It was the only way he knew to cope.

Head still hanging low, he stopped only a few inches away from Ike, close enough to not be able to see his face or expression unless he raised his chin, which he wasn’t planning on doing. _Now or never_ , he urged himself, feeling his nerve wavering. Wasn’t it courageous, in a way, to show the one person he cared for how weak he actually was ?

Marth swallowed thickly, every muscle of his being tensing up at once. He took one last deep breath, and pulled off his gloves, revealing countless scarred cuts covering every bit of skin on his forearms.


	7. “Shag Me” - A dirty drabble about our characters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more sin to unwind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: Super Smash Bros. 4  
> Relationship: Romantic (explicit)  
> Warnings: nsfw, smut, bondage, improvised gag, food kink, blow-job, please do not read if you're under 18

In hindsight, one could say it had been a typical evening, as far as evenings featuring unexpected feasts after long days of fighting went. But then again, there was the fact that the feast itself had been quite different from what the Smashers usually got. 

It was carnival-themed - or so some of the “modern” fighters claimed. Most of the food and activities presented were nothing Marth had ever seen. Lollipops bigger than his hands and rainbow-colored, some cloud-like pastel sweet that melted into a puddle of sugar the moment you put it in your mouth - he remembered someone calling it “cotton candy” -, overheated grains of corn that would pop into an oddly flower shaped bite-sized aliment people would cover in butter or other condiments, thin crackers drowned in some bright, orange, cheesy sauce… It was a never-ending tasting of novelty, but whatever Marth put in his mouth, it was either extremely sweet or extremely salty. He enjoyed it to a degree, what with the contagious enthusiasm everyone else was displaying about the extravagant meal, but he soon deemed it all a bit too much for his delicate taste buds and cut his own feast short. 

Alcohol was being passed around as well among older contenders - though Marth could have sworn he saw one of the kids chugging a shot of… _something_ -, and everything was pushing the whole group in a very party-ish direction. 

The festive atmosphere was fine by him, but there was a point when he detached himself from his own involvement in it and started keeping a watchful eye on Ike. He was clearly enjoying himself, taking up challenge after challenge of arm-wrestling - and unsurprisingly winning them, even those where a couple of kids would gang up on him - and taking a few shots here and there between the ingestion of generous amounts of foreign, unhealthy food. 

Marth settled for seeing him so content for a while, until he started fearing Ike might get too debauched to get to his room - not so much from being drunk than from being tired and letting himself be carried by some mix of sugar and adrenaline high for too long - and tactfully convinced him to turn in for the night - not without agreeing to bring back as much of this perfectly unhealthy food as they could as a compromise. 

As expected, Ike didn’t conk out much longer after they got to their quarters. They sat on the floor and ate some more for a moment, but being isolated from the crowd and the excitement thankfully prompted Ike to realize just how tired he was, and he could barely mumble a “goodnight” and drag himself to the bed before he passed out. Marth followed soon after, once he took in just how much of a mess they’d brought back with them - samples of practically all the food they’d been introduced to and even bigger portions of accompaniments. He was a little too mentally exhausted to gather the willpower of cleaning it up now, especially with Ike’s oh-so welcoming sleeping form nearby. 

And so Marth stood up, walked to the bed, snuggled up to him and closed his eyes. 

Opened them again, sometime later - how much later, he had no way to tell. He felt a lot more well-rested, for one thing, but he could tell it wasn’t even close to morning yet. He blinked his senses into awareness, trying to pinpoint what had woken him up. The first thing he noticed was the smell; a mix of horribly chemical sweet and salty scent that was as alluring as it was repulsing. His eyes narrowed a bit - he was getting a very _sinful_ vibe from the current ambiance. And then it registered: Ike was actively grinding against him in his sleep. 

Some sort of surprised whimpering noise escaped Marth when it dawned on him, but an increasing feeling of satisfaction followed. He shifted carefully so he could better look at Ike’s facial expressions and listen to his ragged breathing. _Some dream he must have been having…_ It served him well - he could be the one to mock Ike in the morning for “humping his leg like a rutting deer”*, and they’d be even, at last. Or… 

Or he could get a much more significant payback, and crank up the satisfaction factor. Not the most honorable idea, to take advantage of such a situation, but nothing would keep Ike from retaliating one of these days, and, well, Marth really wanted to try a little something… 

But first, he needed to test the waters. He lifted up a hand and slowly but firmly let it trail down Ike’s side, stopping at his waist, which earned him a very deep hum from the mercenary, who was still fast asleep despite his increasing… activity. Marth cautiously pushed himself up and away from Ike, careful to keep a hand roaming along his hip and over his thigh to make up for the loss of contact. One smooth transition later, and he had slipped out of bed and deftly given Ike something else - a pile of blankets - to rub his crotch against. He waited for a second, and a handful of others, and still his subject did not awaken. 

_Success. Onto part two._

He quickly scanned the messy room for abandoned clothes and discarded sheets - anything that looked relatively solid but malleable, and gathered them quickly and in silence before returning to the bedside. There, he pulled on one of the sellsword’s arms as softly as he could, trying to move it closer to the edge of the bed. There seemed to be a pause in Ike’s movement, and, somehow, Marth had the reflex of leaning down and nibbling at his neck, just below his ear, which prompted a low growl from the Crimean before he resumed his slow blanket humping.  

And so Marth kept on nipping at his skin as a distraction while his hands were busy tying Ike’s wrist to the closest bed post, after what he waited again for a few seconds before moving on to the next limb. Every time, he made sure to keep Ike from waking up by giving his subconscious a new touch to wrap itself around instead of noticing the limitation of Marth slowly but surely locking each of him arms and legs in place. He was quick with the last ankle, as he fully expected Ike to come to now that even his hips wouldn’t be fully free to roll. And also because, well, it didn’t matter anymore. Even awake, Ike wouldn’t be in any position to put up resistance. 

And so upon tying the last knot, he quickly jumped onto the bed to be looming over the mercenary and greet his opening eyes with his own gaze - not so smoothly rubbing his own crotch against Ike’s erection on the way. Marth stared right back at him for an instant, waiting for a reaction. There was a few seconds of delay, but Ike’s eyes narrowed, and: 

“What the-”  


“Shh.”  


Marth shushed him by pressing a forefinger against his lips, and grinned mischievously when Ike’s eyes searched his for an explanation. “Consider this… payback,” the prince offered with a thoughtful tilt of his head - and before the other could retort anything, he confidently grabbed the headband Ike had not taken off due to his overly tired state earlier, and pulled it down over his mouth. And waited for an instant, and sure enough - Ike’s every words were now properly muffled. Marth chuckled. 

_Success. Onto part three._

“You’ve been very naughty, you know,” he informed Ike while pushing himself down a few inches so one of his hands could trail down his stomach, the tips of his fingers brushing over skin from Ike’s rib cage to his hip bone, and then towards his inner thigh, which gained Marth a throaty whimper from his aroused partner. Oh, how unfair this was. Probably a sin in itself to be enjoying it so much, the Altean thought at the back of his mind. “Now, what do you think would be a fitting punishment ?”   


He didn’t even look up at Ike to see what kind of expression might have been crossing his face at that question; instead he crawled down some more, a second hand joining the first one to pull off the mercenary’s underwear, before firmly settling them both down on Ike’s hips, pushing a decent amount of weight on them so he couldn’t buck up, intentionally or not. Marth licked his lips, and softly trailed them over the other’s manhood, also letting his tongue brush against it for a few seconds before he pushed himself up and off the bed, seemingly giving up on the project all of a sudden. “I had considered just teasing you until I couldn’t stand to watch your frustration anymore, but even that seems a tad too easy, wouldn’t you say ?” 

He turned his back on Ike and heard him struggling against his bonds while Marth rummaged through some of the cartons and plates of food that had been abandoned on the floor nearby, until he found what he was looking for: a small bowl about the size of his palm, full of one of the many sticky, sweet concoctions some of the kids dipped already-sweet desserts in. Marth had already sunk his fingers in by the time he’d walked back to the bed and sat on the edge, eyes on Ike. He set the bowl on the mattress, used his clean hand to caress the other’s inner thigh and slowly stretch lithe fingers around his cock while Marth brought his other sullied hand to his mouth and started sucking the sweet off his fingers, one by one at first, and then practically his whole hand at once, very audibly humming at the taste. “Hmm… what did they call this again ? Caramel ?” And very intently licked his already-wet lips.  

“Truly a shame you can’t… get a taste.” After what he repeated the entire process, dirtying his fingers to lick the substance off again while his other hand worked on teasing Ike’s dick without ever fully stimulating it. It came to a point where he was practically writhing against the mattress, low growls of frustration all muffled down by the unfortunate gag. “If you cannot get a hold of yourself, I cannot help you,” Marth eventually shrugged with a still very present smirk. It seemed to grab Ike’s attention, as he willed himself to a halt for a few seconds, and Marth just took in the display - all sweaty, flustered, tense, and frustrated, and that momentary gleam of hope in his eyes that this torture was coming to an end. “ _Gōjasu_ …”   


Marth paused to think for a heartbeat or two, and stuck his finger back in the sweet substance, this time slathering it all on Ike’s dick. “Oh… my bad,” he feigned to apologize, faking a clumsy expression. “Do you want me to clean that up for you ?” he asked innocently, looking over at Ike, who seemed to be nodding in his powerlessness.  

That was all further consent Marth needed; he leaned back over Ike’s crotch and started licking his sweet, sticky cock, slowly enough to draw another repressed moan from the victim. He picked up the pace by grabbing some more of the substance and spreading it all over the erect member, and finally took him all in his mouth, surprisingly himself with a very content hum. He began bobbing his head, not indifferent to the various noises he could hear escaping Ike. Marth steeled himself each time he went down not to gag or choke - Ike was _big_ , and the satisfaction of deep-throating him was unfortunately not enough to keep natural reflexes at bay. But each time he came up, he used his fingers to rub more caramel on the uncovered flesh, prompting him to go back down more avidly, more hungrily, tongue and lips sucking tighter with every movement to get it all off, until Ike stiffened underneath him and came in his mouth, bitter cum easily swallowed with the mixed carnival sweet.  

Still, Marth slowly slid his mouth off Ike’s cock, distractedly making sure nothing was left behind, and exhaled longingly, a little shocked at how much he actually enjoyed the experience. “Absolutely ravishing… as expected,” he commented, pushing himself back up to Ike’s level with slightly shaky arms. The mercenary was practically limp with exhaustion, which seemed a good enough indication that it was relatively safe to free him. “You never fail to please, love,” Marth assured as he dropped down next to him and finally untied the headband. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *reference to a talk I had with my roleplay partner, where we discussed a hypothetical situation in which Marth would have a dirty dream and grind on Ike in his sleep


End file.
